


Looking Forward

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: Scully tries to cope with her feelings as she and Mulder prepare for the new baby.





	Looking Forward

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

Scully’s always dealt with things by keeping busy.  Whatever life’s thrown at her—loneliness or loss or mysteries she can’t solve—she’s always been able to throw herself into her work, to concentrate on that until she doesn’t have time to think about anything else.  But they’re not working right now.

That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have anything to do, of course.  There’s a lot to do, and she and Mulder do it together.  They drive to her doctor’s appointments together.  When they see the first ultrasound, hear their baby’s heartbeat, he grips her hand so tightly, and he is crying a little and she is crying too, for a mix of reasons she doesn’t really want to examine.  They clean out the small bedroom down the hall from their own, picking out paint colors and furniture.  Stuffed animals keep arriving at the house until she has to tell Mulder that at this rate there won’t be any room for the baby, but it makes her happy, even so.  Whatever happens, she knows this baby will be loved.

That’s a good thing, or it should be, but it’s not always a pleasant train of thought.  She wonders, when she thinks about it, if it will be enough for them to love this child, when it was never quite enough before, when she’s seen firsthand how her love isn’t able to save her children.  And if they can keep this one safe—that seems almost unfair.  She couldn’t do that for William.  She feels sick when she thinks about it, about the last time they saw him, about the way it all ended.  She believes he’s still alive—she senses it somehow, a feeling—but he’s not coming anywhere near them, and she honestly can’t say she blames him.  Maybe under other circumstances…but no, not the way things are.  If she were him, she wouldn’t.  They might never see him again.  That’s always been a hard thing to make peace with, but the pain is fresher now, more raw.  There are moments when she’s sure that it isn’t right to hope.

Sometimes, when she feels like this, she goes and rearranges all those stuffed animals or asks Mulder if he wants to look at more baby furniture.  It helps some in the moment, lets her relax a little, but she knows it’s not the healthiest decision in the long run.  So she tries to talk to Mulder about it, which is hard for her, still, even though maybe it shouldn’t be by now.  But she talks, and he listens, and he talks to her too.  (Somehow that part is easier.  She’s always felt like she made him hold her up, all those years ago, after William, when they were first together again.  Now they hold each other up.)  They hold each other on their couch; she feels his tears against her neck, shakes with her own sorrow.  It would be too much without each other.  Even now, there are moments when she feels like she might get pulled under, but she’s able to remind herself that they’re there to pull each other out, that she’s still allowed to look forward to the future, that she can feel joy along with guilt. 

They’re in bed one night; she’s sitting up against the pillows, and his hands are all over her, light caresses moving from her breasts down to the swell of her belly.  (The way he looks at her these days…and she thought she’d seen wonders before.)  “Someone should write a poem about you,” he says.

“Why don’t you?”

He looks thoughtful for a moment, tracing the curve of her hip with a finger.  “There once was a woman named Scully…”  She laughs then, strokes his hair.  He moves his hands back to her belly, then bends his head and kisses it.  Once, twice.  He looks up at her.  “I’m happy I get to see you,” he says.  Only those words, but she understands.

“Me too,” she says, and she holds him close.  If everything were just and fair, it would be a given, this happiness; him being here with her wouldn’t be anything special or new.  So it isn’t fair.  But the happiness still exists.  His cheek is pressed against her belly.  The baby kicks.  Once, twice. 


End file.
